A Time Lord Can Develop the Flu
by Hay Bails
Summary: The Doctor feels a bit under the weather, and it's up to Supertemp Donna Noble to set him straight.


"And what are you doing out of bed, Time Boy?"

The Doctor froze, his hands frozen over the controls of the TARDIS as if he were a child caught in the act of stealing the last cookie from the jar. Donna Noble watched with a bemused smirk from the doorway as her alien fumbled for a good response.

"I was… I just… _Donna_," he whined.

"_Doctor_," she whined back, mimicking his pathetic tone. "You turn this ship around and take us right back into the space-time vortex, buster."

"But I'm _bored_," he pouted. "Just twenty minutes? Twenty minutes on Verona and I swear, I'll come right back to bed, I… oh…" He put a hand to his head for a fraction of a second, trying to mask the headache that he had been battling all morning.

Donna raised an eyebrow, and the hand came down as quickly as it had gotten to his temple.

"It's just a silly little flu," he argued weakly. "I'll be better in a few hours."

"Come on, Spaceman." Donna walked over, put a hand on his back, and gently – but firmly – steered him back in the direction of his bedroom.

"I'm fine, really," he protested weakly.

"I'm sure you are. And you'll be even more fine in a few hours when you wake up."

"Donna," he began, then stopped, coughing. Donna stopped walking him down the hall. She waited patiently as the Doctor doubled over, hacking. "I… I think…" he spluttered between coughs.

"What do you think?"

"I… going to… oh god…"

He lurched forward, running for the bathroom. He threw the door open and gripped the edges of the toilet, retching. Donna followed, the concern in her eyes temporarily drowning out her smug look of I-told-you-so. She placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on his back, rubbing soothing circles into his spine as he emptied the contents of his stomach.

When he was finished, he slumped to the linoleum floor, breathing hard. Donna took a small yellow washcloth from beside the sink, wet it, and began to dab at her friend's forehead.

"Still fancy that trip to Verona?"

The Doctor hesitated, then shook his head, not trusting his voice.

Donna smirked. "Come on, Time Boy," she said. "Up you get." She took his wrists in her hands and pulled the Time Lord to his feet, discarding the washcloth. He was shaking and sweaty, she noticed. It was… odd. She was so used to the Doctor being a steady, unwavering figure in her life, someone rock solid who would always be there to care for her. The role reversal was a bit unnerving, but not entirely unpleasant. She would finally get a chance to show the Doctor all the love he deserved, without having to fight off hordes of aliens to do it.

She led the Doctor to his room quietly this time. He seemed to have no further objections as his companion set him onto his bed. He nodded in consent as she took off his jacket for him. With the tenderness of a mother, she put a hand to his forehead.

"Almost as hot as me," she joked with a wink. The Doctor rolled his eyes, then closed them with a soft whimper.

Donna looked at him with pity. She sat beside him, pulling his thin frame into her arms. One hand loosely draped around his back; the other gently ruffled his hair. She pulled back ever so slightly, and kissed his forehead.

"You really don't feel good, do you?"

He shook his head. "So much virus inside that a microscope slide looks like a day at the zoo..." he mumbled cryptically.

"Lie down," she admonished him. "I promise you'll feel better when you wake up."

He looked at her pitifully, but obliged, letting his body fall into the mattress.

"It's from a play, you know."

"I'm sure that it is."

"Mhm. Guys and..." he sniffled, and sneezed. "And Dolls."

"Lovely. You can sing me the Flu Song _after_ you've woken up."

"Donna?" he mumbled.

"Yes?"

"Stay with me?"

"Of course."

The Doctor buried a little deeper into his mound of pillows. Donna thought this was quite endearing. The Time Lord's room was very plain and sparse, except for the pillows. He must have had at least ten, in all different colors.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Pinkie swear?"

Donna laughed. "All right." She entwined the aforementioned digit with his own, which he proffered to her delightedly, for a second or two. "Now go to sleep."

He turned his head into the mountain of pillows, muffling his voice. "'Kay."

Within seconds, soft snores reached Donna's ears. She stifled another laugh.

'Poor thing,' she thought. 'Must have been exhausted.' She petted his hair for a moment or two, marveling at how soft it was. "Sleep well, love," she whispered softly, leaning over and kissing his head again. She laid down beside him, shifting the pillows below her until she was comfortable, then pulled his body into her arms. "Sleep well," she mumbled again, closing her own eyes, "my Doctor."


End file.
